


Ashes

by colorfulmagic



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Badly, Drinking, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, In 2020? It’s more likely than you think, M/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Sex, just two friends, themes of death, trying to get over half the world dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:26:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24279562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colorfulmagic/pseuds/colorfulmagic
Summary: “He wasn’t even really my kid, you know? He had a family. Had a dad. There’s no reason I should—“ Tony broke off, face pale, and took another swig from the half full bottle in front of them.Steve swallowed another sip as well, and then nudged closer to Tony. Their sides were lined up, and after a beat, Tony leaned his head onto Steve’s shoulder. Steve placed his cheek on the top of Tony’s head and this, too, was familiar. Like dancing to the steps of a half forgotten song.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Kudos: 31





	Ashes

It had been two weeks since the snap. The snap, that was what everyone was calling it. Incongruous, like a band name or a dance move. Not genocide. Two weeks since Tony had emerged, thin and weak from the belly of a spaceship, and looked up at Steve with a frightening blank hollowness in his eyes as he said  _ I lost the kid.  _

Since gaining his strength and leaving the compound, Steve didn’t think Tony had left his tower for anything. He didn’t sleep, barely ate, and according to Pepper and Rhodes, was pushing everyone away who tried to talk to him. Steve knew he was the last person Tony wanted to see right now. He also knew that Tony needed someone. It wasn’t like Tony could hurt him anymore than he already had anyway.  _ No trust. Liar.  _

He had banged on the door for what felt like forever. “Tony,” he had shouted. “I know you’re in there.” No answer. Steve shrugged, and set to work picking the lock. The stuff Clint had taught him really did come in handy once in a while. 

“What the fuck are you doing here. Get out of my house,” Tony said upon seeing him. He was sitting on the couch, seemingly staring at nothing, and was wearing nothing but a ratty magenta bathrobe. The sight of him brought the first twitch of a smile to Steve’s face since he had sat down on the Wakandan grass and choked down bile as he realized the ash he was holding had a few seconds ago been his two best friends. Tony might not have been the only one who needed company. 

“Listen, you can be mad at me later if you want. It’ll be a really good argument. I’ll probably cry. But the world just fucking ended, and I really want to get drunk. Are you in or out,” Steve said, thunking down two bottles, one a bottle of vodka that could thin paint and another bottle of the same but with Thor’s asgardian liquor added to it. 

Tony squinted up at him. “Language,” he muttered, but it was half hearted at best. Steve collapsed down next to him, and for a minute it was just like it used to be, when they would get back from a mission and would haggle with each other over what toppings to get for after mission pizza. 

_ Are you even a real New Yorker, are you kidding me with this shit? I am not paying for your god awful tastes, Rogers.  _

_ You’re a billionaire, Stark, suck it up. And you can't shame me for my taste, I grew up in the depression. I know terrible food, and this is not terrible.  _

_ Okay, you need to stop bringing up the fact that you grew up in the Great Depression to win all our arguments, how is that fair?  _ Tony would sputter. 

_ So that’s a yes to the pineapple, then?  _ Steve would smugly retort, and Tony would grumble but order two large pineapple pizzas. 

He pushed down the pang in his chest as he thought about better times, and set himself to opening the bottles. Tony still had that awful empty look on his face, as if he was seeing what was happening in front of him but couldn’t seem to care about his part in it. 

“Drink,” Steve said firmly pushing the bottle into his hands. Tony immediately threw his liquor back with the ease of a man who had been drinking since he was fourteen. Steve followed, with much less ease and a hint of cough that he hoped Tony wouldn’t notice. Grimacing at the bitter taste, he swallowed, eyes burning, and watched Tony take another shot. For a while that was the only sound, bottles clinking against the wood and liquid sloshing. 

“He knew it was coming,” Tony said, breaking the silence. His voice was raspy, like he hadn’t talked in days. 

“Who?” Steve asked, but he already knew and was dreading the answer. 

“The kid. He could feel it. He used to tell me it was like some sort of itch, under his skin, told him when he was in danger. Called it his—“ and Tony choked out a laugh “his spidey sense.” Steve was silent. What did you say to a man who had lost their child? Nothing that he knew. 

“He wasn’t even really my kid, you know? He had a family. Had a dad. There’s no reason I should—“ Tony broke off, face pale, and took another swig from the half full bottle in front of them. 

Steve swallowed another sip as well, and then nudged closer to Tony. Their sides were lined up, and after a beat, Tony leaned his head onto Steve’s shoulder. Steve placed his cheek on the top of Tony’s head and this, too, was familiar. Like dancing to the steps of a half forgotten song.

“I think Thor is losing it,” Steve said, and he was surprised by the steadiness of his voice. Tony snorted, and it died out half through as if he was too tired for that as well. 

“Yeah, well, what else is new,” Tony said. They breathed in sync, drinking deeply from their bottles once in a while. Steve was starting to feel the customary lightheadedness and heavy feeling in his body. Tony didn’t look drunk, but then again, he was much better at hiding it. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if Tony had already started drinking before Steve even came. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said softly, and Tony jerked away from his hold before the words were even done crossing his mouth. 

“Fuck you,” he hissed. 

“Tony—” he started, but Tony didn’t let him finish. 

“Fuck you, and all your sanctimonious bullshit. I was right, okay, I was right and you didn’t believe me, and half the earth is dead, and Peter—” he stopped for a second, breathing raggedly like there were knives in him. “Peter is dead. And no apology in the world is gonna change that. So just fuck off.” Steve’s side felt cold, and he took another sip to hide the shaking in his hands. 

“I know,” Steve said, and when he looked down he was mildly surprised to find that his shirt was still white and unsoiled. Curious, when he felt as though a knife had gone into his stomach and twisted, his blood and organs staining the nice wooden floor. 

He heard Tony sigh, and a muttered curse with the thunk of glass on wood. “I actually managed to convince myself it wouldn’t bother me. That you wouldn’t bother me. I’m just—” Tony stopped. 

“Tired,” Steve said, and Tony jerked his head in a nod. It was true, too. His shoulders seemed stuck in a permanent slump, the bags under his eyes were almost purple, and judging by the telltale twitch in his fingers, he hadn’t slept in days. Steve knew if he looked in a mirror he would be the same. That’s why he didn’t look. 

“Can I ask you a question,” Tony asked, and there was a slight slurring to his words now. 

“Anything.”

“Why did you do it. Hide it from me for so long I mean.”

Steve squinted into the distance thoughtfully. It wasn’t a bad question. He had been expecting it, almost. “Not sure,” he said finally. “I think you’re assuming I was actually thinking when I made the decision. Most of the time I just make decisions and stick with them. Sometimes they end up working out, sometimes they don’t.”

“Dear God,” Tony muttered. “This from the man who was our strategic leader for three years.” Steve’s laugh took him by surprise, and it scraped in his throat, rusty from disuse. Tony’s lips quirked. 

They drank in silence for a while, and Steve was starting to realize that Tony was not nearly as drunk as he should be. 

“You must drink a hell of a lot,” Steve said. 

“Yep.”

“Since when…” Steve trailed off, unable to finish, and Tony shrugged. 

“Can’t really remember a time I didn’t. After Iron Man, I stopped for a little while, but even then…”

Steve nodded, then leaned back into Tony’s side again. He couldn’t even stop himself, it was like Tony had his own gravitational pull. “Was it… when we were together.” He didn’t phrase it as a question but Tony understood anyway. 

“No,” he said softly. “Not then, no.” Steve nodded again. “What are you doing here, Steve,” came his voice, even quieter. Steve could feel Tony’s shoulder moving with Tony’s breath under his cheek. He was definitely more drunk than Tony. 

“I mis’d you,” Steve said, burrowing his head further into Tony’s neck. “I know I fucked up, an’ I’m sorry, I just— I really, really missed you.” 

Steve prepared for Tony to kick him out, to yell, to scream that he deserved everything he got and more. What he got was Tony exhaling, and then warm fingers raking through his hair. Something in his chest cracked open at the sweetness of the gesture, and he realized to his great horror that he was crying. 

“Oh god, ‘m sorry,” he half gasped, half sobbed. “It’s just, I’m all alone again, this keeps happening, why does this keep happening to me?” He was getting tears all over Tony’s ratty robe, and in a distant corner of his brain he knew he should stop, but Tony just folded him into his arms and held him while he shuddered through the sobs. 

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re okay sweetheart,” Tony murmured. The last time he had cried like this had been when his dad had left for good, and he felt safe for the first time in years. His mom had held him, rocked him and cried with him over a black eye. The thought made him sob harder, and Tony rubbed his back in soothing circles and whispered nonsense words to him. 

Steve slowly calmed down, his breathing matching Tony’s. “‘M s’rry I’m cryin’ all over you,” he mumbled, and Tony didn’t answer. Then, because Steve’s impulse control had well and truly flown out the window, Steve leaned up a little and kissed him. It was wet, and Steve almost instantly pulled away, but as he did Tony let out an inhuman keening sound, dragging him closer like he would break if Steve left him. Tony tugged his fingers through Steve’s hair, longer than it was when they were together, and they desperately gasped into each other’s mouths, fingers scrabbling for purchase on each other’s bodies. 

It was less kissing and more like mauling, but that was fine. Steve reached for the opening in Tony’s robe and dragged his hands up smooth muscle. Even half starved and underweight, there wasn’t an ounce of fat on the man. Eventually Tony was the one who broke away, gasping and mouth red and slick. “You’re drunk,” he said quietly, brow furrowed. 

“Does it matter?” Steve asked, moving his mouth up Tony’s jaw. “Just, come on, please,  _ Tony _ —” Tony groaned as though someone had stabbed him, and dug his fingers into Steve’s waist, hard enough to leave bruises. 

They fell back on the couch, bodies moving together, and their fucking that night was quiet and desperate.  _ Is this okay _ Steve whispered into Tony’s ear, hand brushing behind his balls, and Tony had groaned and said  _ Yes, god, come on just fuck me.  _

For a man who was as loud as Tony was, he was extremely quiet in bed. The only signs into what he was feeling were his slowly ratcheting breaths, getting more rapid as time went on, and it shouldn’t have been as desperately hot as it was but it really was. Steve raised a shaking hand and brushed it across Tony’s cheek as Tony came, staring at his face in awe. His own release in comparison seemed inconsequential, and he dropped his head onto Tony’s chest afterwards, breathing heavily. 

The only sound in the dark room was their slowing breaths, and Tony had started raking his fingers through Steve's hair again. Steve tried not to look like he was leaning into it, and failed.

“You need a haircut,” Tony said sleepily, and Steve snorted. 

“I’m pretty sure my barber is dead,” he said, and Tony let out a small hysterical giggle. 

“Shit,” Tony swore fervently, and Steve nodded into his chest. He could barely wrap his mind around it, all the suffering. Tony’s arms tightened around him, and Steve could feel himself drifting off. Nothing would change in the morning. Half the world would still be dead, and it would still be his fault. The two men he thought of as brothers would be ash in the wind. Tony’s kid would have seen death coming and given a child’s plea for his father to save him. But for now, he let himself drift off, free from the guilt that sat like ashes in his throat, safe in Tony’s arms. 

**Author's Note:**

> Like and comment below if you liked it!


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